My first recollection of being ‘different’ goes back to my childhood when I would obsessively tidy some of my toys in contrast to my Brother & Sister leaving theirs all over the bedroom, house, garden etc. I can remember a gut wrenching feeling when anyone disturbed my possessions.

Family life was good, my Parents gave us all the love and opportunities that were possible, but my school life was a quite different.

I wasn’t happy about going to primary school, to a degree it was normal, but looking back I can remember feeling nervous quite often for no apparent reason, I always felt intimidated by other children and the teachers. My school report always seemed to start ‘Dean is a likeable and polite boy, however…’ and end ‘…lazy and a daydreamer. Ok, so they were half right!

My memories of playground social life aren’t pleasant. One kid in particular would always make a beeline for me; he had a strong and mischievous personality. He intimidated me, made me carry him about on my back, all that kind of thing. He enjoyed tormenting me, I would cry very easily which was highly entertaining for him and soon the other children got on the bandwagon. They would surround me and taunt me, steal my school bag, empty it out etc. I was rarely physically hurt, though it did happen, I was just teased most of the time. My older brother Gary would often stick his neck out trying to protect me but he was out numbered couldn’t always be around.

To this day I do not know why I didn’t make a point of telling my parents much about all this, they noticed my bike getting nicked regularly after school by the older kids sort of thing, but I suppose from an on-looking parents view it was just boys being boys.

Emotionally I always seemed to be walking on eggshells, I would obsess on guilt, if I thaught that had wronged someone, even in the slightest possible way. I would go through phases, becoming overwhelmed by a fear of death. And I would often become depressed obsessing about something, anything, usually something that I had completely blown up out of all proportion. No one really knew about what was going on inside my head, I kept it secret, probably because there was another part of me that thought I should be embarrassed about these thoughts.

Checking behaviour and ‘thought action fusion’ was surfacing. I kept rabbits and guinea pigs and I can remember staring at the door-catches on the hutches, feeling anxious and wondering why I couldn’t walk away.

I did have a regular means of escape from my problems though, I loved music, still do. My parents had a big bag full of vinyl singles, Beatles, Beach Boys, allsorts. I would sit and rock on my bed for hours on end and take my mind miles away, some sort of meditation, dreaming up nice stories, scenarios and general fantasizing. It was great; I can’t do it so well now. I was learning to play the piano (and much later bass guitar) and I can lose myself when playing too. Through music I had found a regular escape. ..Anyway..

Secondary school: A few of the other children had picked up on the emotional weakness I seemed to emit but I made a few friends and things weren’t so bad as long as I didn’t make any waves. Certain children did bump into me and give me a hard time but I was quickly learning to keep my head down. Even on the school rugby fields in games lesson I avoided the ball! …Until one day the ball came to me.

Usually when I was in games I would wander about in circles daydreaming. I had no interest in rugby (as it was too confrontational) or any idea of how to play. Looking back it’s a bit funny; I really didn’t know which end of the pitch I was supposed to run towards anyway!

One day the ball landed at my feet, I froze with panic, and then apparently all I had to do was “pick up the friggin ball and donk it over the line!” The line didn’t seem so far away and I decided to go for it.

Suddenly the whistle blew, ‘we’ won, and I was a hero …well, for about 60 seconds anyway, but I had a taste of acceptance from my peers and this intense experience had planted a seed in my mind.

It was now in my interest to learn the game of ‘Rugby’.

(Don’t worry, this isn’t gonna turn into a big ol’ rugby story!)

During the following matches I observed and learned. I realised that in this controlled environment I could let off some steam. Desperate to hear the appreciation again I made it my business to score.

I was not exactly school champ but because I was showing keen I was put on the school team.

So, I got invited to parties, had a girlfriend and started ‘smoking behind the bike shed’ etc.

Beginning to feel my feet I very quickly became a bit of a rebel, mitched off school, got myself into a few fights and even managed to get myself into Juvenile Court for a street fight.

My parents removed me from school to engage me into private tutoring, I had just turned 16, I had bought a motorbike and became pre-occupied with the open road, so the tutoring didn’t last long and I finished my education with a Police record and a cycling proficiency test!

So the situation was: I seemed to dip In and out of two mind-frames, the new liberated side battling with the repressed side. One month I’d be enjoying all the endeavours of early adulthood and the next I’d slip into bouts of obsessive thoughts/behaviour and depression but on the surface front a normal but often preoccupied young lad.

I met a luvly girl named Renee and we fell in love.

I was encouraged to start work at my Fathers garage (…well, I had a Girlfriend and a Motorcycle to support!) and I was to attend College on a day release basis (and I actually passed the Exams!) .

At 18 I lived in a 40ft caravan at the end of my parent’s garden with my Brother, we had a great time; Renee practically lived there. The caravan was always full of our friends. It was a crash pad and usually looked like a tip (except my very tidy and organised bedroom, which was sacred). Life was usually good, my obsessive behaviour was minimal and I had very few responsibilities. I spent most of my wages keeping my Motorbike and eating at the chippy four times a day.

Renee and I started to get serious and by the age of 19 Renee and I had a mortgage and at 20 we were married.

Our lives were coming together quite nicely, lots of responsibilities though. It was now very important that we had a steady flow of money coming in, there were complicated letters to read every morning, having to sort things out on the phone all the time and shopping to do etc. I did enjoy this new ‘being a grown up’ stuff for a year or so but inevitably the OCD started to raise its ugly head and most daily tasks were becoming a chore even more so when I had to repetitively do it.

I was slow and over methodical in work. No one knew why and I was beginning to compare my behaviour to other people and I came to the conclusion that I was ‘different’, highly strung or something, having an illness hadn’t crossed my mind.

Juggling life’s tasks were becoming increasingly more difficult so I started to use a diary to keep my life (and my obsessions) in order. The diary itself became an obsession for many years; I used it as my external auxiliary memory. If I were at the pub, for example, it would be embarrassing to openly access my diary continually so I would nip into the loo and write stuff down. It seemed that I had no confidence in my sub-conscience memory at all, I was beginning to feel trapped but my journey into real emotional pain was yet to come.

The Trigger: I was looking for some sort of escapism. We had a large circle of friends so Renee and I would go out and Party on weekends and I began to use alcohol as an anaesthetic to deal with this early midlife crisis I seemed to be having. I would enjoy a good drink on most evenings (in or out of the flat) I was not a problem to anyone when I was drinking alcohol, I would drink, my jokes would get worse and then I would fall down. Splendid.

This went on for about a year.

One evening, on the spur of the moment decided to visit an ol’ school friend, a surprise visit. I drove to his house and knocked on the door. He answered, and said “Hi Deano, how are you? You’ve come at just the right time!” He led me in and introduced me to two of his pals. On the floor was a bucket of water and a plastic cola bottle with the bottom cut off. The bottle was immersed in the water. Then a small piece of pierced tinfoil was placed in the top of the neck, followed by a large helping of marijuana sprinkled onto that. As the lighter was applied to the marijuana, the bottle was drawn upwards and about a litre of thick smoke was contained. My friend was being hospitable and offered this gift to me.

I was in the frame of mind that loads of people I knew smoked it and found it relaxing with its medicinal properties blah, blah and I thought that this could be an asset to me. I decided to give it a go.

I removed the tinfoil stuck my mouth over the top, pressed down and breathed in deeply. I waited about 30 seconds, breathed out and then coughed, big time!

About half an hour went by and nothing happened, by which time the others had crashed out on the floor, so I made my way home.

Suddenly, about half a mile from home, it hit me like an avalanche. I felt like I was travelling really fast but I looked at the speedo and I was doing about 15mph! My perception of time had altered and each three seconds seemed to overlap, I could feel my heart was racing and I felt an overwhelming and surreal fear take grip of me. I had never experienced such an unnatural fear in my life before, ever!

I finally made it home, ran into the flat, nervously babbled to Renee, who said that I had been a dick! After informing her of the whole situation and feeling drowsy I dived straight into bed where I thought I’d feel better. I lay down and shut my eyes, big mistake, seconds later I was not tired anymore, my heart was racing again and I felt that I just had to get out of the building, fast!

Renee (by now bewildered and worried) was walking me up and down the grass verge of a near by dual carriage way until five in the morning.

When we eventually returned to the flat Renee went to sleep exhausted, but I could not sleep, I was still overcome with fear and confusion, I was wondering what was happening to me, why I was feeling so bad. I was supposed to be relaxed!! I didn’t sleep at all that night and I was glad to get into work hoping I would feel better if I occupied myself.

I arrived at the garage and proceeded to prepare a car for painting, I was still nervous, battling with intrusive thoughts and what seemed like two hours passed and I glanced at the clock …actually five minutes had passed! I was petrified. I was thinking that surely any effects of the drug must have pretty much diminished by now, but I was still clearly remaining confused and anxious, something else was wrong?!

After work I returned to our flat, I was still in a state of anxiety, I had lost my appetite and my stomach felt like it was tied in a knot, ten times more than usual. Later, when I did try to sleep I was dealing with more Intrusive thoughts, I was paranoid that I would harm Renee as I slept and I wished that I could tie my hands together. I nervously managed a light sleep, only to wake up in the morning feeling no better. It seemed that through my traumatic endeavour that I had learned a new dimension of fear, which was going to be with me for a while. At the time it felt like forever.

For three very long years I was continually anxious, depressed and confused. I became withdrawn and my social life had largely disappeared (I no longer drank alcohol as the idea of losing control was a huge issue to me). My mind was riddled with intrusive thoughts. I was mentally disecting my body, mind and soul to analyse and re-assure my self of …my self, kinda thing! My checking behaviour and the panic attacks were progressively becoming worse. My family and friends were aware that I was experiencing an ‘emotional disturbance’ and were desperate to help. Nobody could fathom it.

One evening I was at my parents, I’d ‘gone into one’ and I was trembling on the settee, we decided to contact my G.P. and asked him come over and take a look at me.

When he arrived He administered 2mg Diazepam, four times daily and we made an appointment to chat about the panic attacks. When I returned home I felt an improvement, the Diazepam took the edge off and we were relieved that progress was made. I had not mentioned my repetitive behaviour, as it seemed to be the least of my worries at that time, besides I had not yet established a link between the two ailments.

My G.P. suggested that I visit my C.M.H.T. (community mental health team) and I was informed of a group called Walk-Free, a self-help group for people who suffer with panic attacks. After I had come to terms with the stigma, I nervously attended but I was learning a great deal. I realised that I had an illness, I was not alone and there was help; this knowledge in its self offered an element of relief. It was also dawning on me that though there were a huge amount of similarities between the people at Walk-Free and myself with the panic and anxiety, I had another issue and that my checking behaviour was in need of attention, my first notion of a possible link between the two (for the record, I was about 24).

Prozac: The Diazepam was helping but my G.P. and I were aware that Diazepam is best used short term due to possible addiction so I tried a few different types of anti-depressants, which made me ill, they mostly gave me nasty headaches and aching genitals!

Eventually I tried Flouoxitine (Prozac); my anxieties didn’t seem to be addressed but I had fewer problems with the nasty side effects so I plodded on taking them, I waited and hoped, for about three months.

Eventually, a change; enlightenment came to me when I noticed that I was becoming more interested in social involvement. I was coming out of my shell, but this did not mean Renee found me easier to live with. I was like a child with a new toy, I had always ridden motorbikes, and a few months later I joined up with a Motorcycle club in Cardiff. I was out on my Bike until the early hours too often and I weaned myself onto drinking alcohol again (which I consider to be a brave and liberating achievement!), I started to go to parties and motorcycle shows, I loved meeting the ladies and having a flirt. I was a new liberated me, enjoying life again; I even got a nice tattoo and some bolts through my nipples to secure my new identity.

My attitude towards life was becoming adolescent, I was angry about what I had been through; I felt that life owed me something; I was on an emotional rebound.

I was confused because there was a part of me that wanted to dive further into hedonism and another that owed my life to Renee. I dipped in and out of the two roles and there was friction.

Renee and I decided to have a child, we had been together for 9 years we had a house and a spare room, maybe being a parent would settle me. The thought of being a dad was scary, but when our daughter was born I was besotted. My destiny life was clear.

I had to work a lot more to compensate for the loss of earnings because Renee was now a full time mum. I was still working in my father’s garage, the OCD was still a problem and often I would book fewer hours than I actually worked in an attempt to compensate. I toyed with the idea of a job change, I thought that a change of environment might help. My brother, Gary, landed me an office job (global fax broadcasting) 160 miles away in London where during the week I stayed with Gary and his family, then on the weekends I’d jump on my motorbike and tear across the M4 to be with Renee and little Keyleigh.

The new job offered a completely new environment to what I was used to and I was beginning to enjoy it. Gary and I went out on many rave-ups and caught up on old times, though I missed Renee and Kayleigh very much during the week.

Of course, I was still battling with repetitive checking. My work involved using specially designed software to send multiple business faxes across the globe, which was fascinating. This also involved up-dating large data basses, I would often over check my work, I tried to hide it from the others in the office, and I’m not sure how well I did.

My obsessive checking was also still riddled through my private life; I would spend a lot of time ‘organising’ my personal belongings, writing silly lists of stuff I had to do when I went home for the weekends. My motorbike became even more important to me than usual because I needed it to commute long distances. I was never one for keeping my bikes clean, but I was a stickler for general maintenance, due to my ruminations I often stopped on the hard shoulder to obsess about a ‘potential disaster’, e.g. Had I tightened something too little or too much?

The whole reason I changed my job was to try something that may be more suited to my OCD problem, which it wasn’t, and of course a geographical escape was not going to work, because the OCD follows me around! Besides I missed Renee and Kayleigh. I stayed in London for about 10 months. Looking back, I don’t regret trying.

I was home only a few months and Renee became pregnant, this time with twins! Two boys, to be named Adam and Daniel. The entire family was exited. An excellent miracle in progress.

There is, of course the mountain of responsibility I had to get my head around, we had a two bedroom house at the time, we didn’t have enough bedrooms, the extra income I was to be responsible for and my motorbike was worn-out beyond economical repair.

So I carried on working at the garage the best I could (all the old problems with time keeping and working performance cranked up again). We tried to sell the house but had no joy, we finally decided to build an extension with the help of our parents, and my transport problem was being solved by building a ‘chopper’ out of bits of anything, mostly a chopped up/hard-tailed Z750 rolling chassis, and a KLR 600 motor (for those who are interested).

Things slowly started to come together, within a year we had a three-bedroom house, three really beautiful children and a very interesting looking motorbike. I even managed to join a band playing my bass guitar. I was trying to cope with the every day life stresses and OCD the best I could.

An opportunity of attending a treatment centre came up. Paula, my mother in law, was watching a TV programme and a treatment centre in Aberystwyth was shown treating obsessive compulsive illnesses. As soon as she told me about it me I was very interested. I phoned the contact number and the pursuit began. First I had a phone interview; it was explained to me that the treatment was sixteen weeks and that I would have to stop my medication. I explained all about the OCD problem and my concerns about stopping the medication. I remember being asked about my past, my family life etc. I was asked if I drank alcohol and told about a no drinking policy. Then it was explained to me how to enrol. It seemed like there was a lot of hassle for it to materialise, a load of hard work when I got there and altogether a bit scary but I was of course keen to rid myself of the OCD.

I needed funding from my local health authority and to get the funding my local C.M.H.T had to verify the intensity of my OCD issues.

I spoke to my GP and he got the ball rolling with my C.M.H.T. There was a long waiting list to get the interview and there were other complications, first the person who dealt with the waiting list was on holiday and they said that they would be in touch. Three weeks went by, nobody called me. I called them and explained the whole thing again. I was told that the person who dealt with the waiting list was back, but at lunch and they would leave a message. Three hours went by, I called them, only having to explain the whole thing to somebody else who couldn’t help. I decided to visit in person, 45 minutes later I had successfully managed to get myself noticed and on the waiting list, possibly because I was standing in the waiting room in my underpants and a bobble hat, and it was the middle of February! It’s a shame what one is driven to get a simple task done!

A few months went by and I waited, with mixed feelings. I stopped drinking alcohol a month before the treatment began, to prove a point because I had a feeling that the alcohol issues were being over cooked; I wanted to focus on the OCD.

The treatment started June 19th 1999. I had my last Prozac in the morning that day, I drove to Aberystwyth, found the B&B where I was to reside, unpacked and then walked the few steps across the road to the treatment centre. Over the few months before the treatment I had mentally prepared myself the best I could so that they could ‘lead me about by the nose’ sort of thing, anyway…

The daily routine varied slightly but began with a group talk, a lesson from a visitor, video or the treatment co-ordinator, lunch break, a half hour walk together, therapeutic duties (this was hideous, basically we cleaned the floor, windows and vacuumed etc) then we disused our homework assignments. Twice a week we had to attend an external meeting, an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. …HELLO! I HAVE OCD!

I soon found out that they had never treated anyone specifically with OCD before. It was considered to be a ‘compulsive illness’, the same as one is compulsively compelled to drink alcohol or check or self-harm etc.
We had our AA books and we had to substitute the word ‘alcohol’ with whatever illness we were enrolled for. I explained that I had stopped drinking alcohol so that my OCD could remain the primary focus. I was told that I was of course in ‘denial’.

The homework consisted of learning how to extract memories of when our illnesses have damaged others and ourselves. With regard to my OCD I was scraping the barrel after a week, with regard to my drinking I ran out in half a page.

Our compulsive behaviours had to stop on the first day of treatment and the emotional aftermath was to be addressed during the treatment. I found it impossible to determine an obsessive thought from a ‘normal’ one so I was very confused by the whole idea. Its easy to determine if you are not using alcohol, pills, pot or self harming or not eating properly but filtering what thoughts were normal or not I found impossible.

I plodded on thinking it was maybe me or that I would get it as the treatment progressed. The repercussions of stopping my medication took about three months to surface and I was a mess, certainly worse than when I began the treatment. I completed the duration of the treatment and went home in a haze of twisted thoughts, images and feelings. The local AA in Cardiff had no idea what to do with an OCD sufferer. My family was left to pick up the pieces.

I went back on the Prozac and waited in Hell for a few months longing to get back to my normal OCD behaviour.

It was a long and hard experiment just to discover AA or the 12-step programme can be effective for alcohol abuse and other carefully selected problems, but not OCD.

They sent me a multiple choice questionnaire eighteen months after I left hardly effective aftercare.

The treatment knocked me back a few pegs. During my ‘adjusting back to how I was’ period I had joined an OCD group in Cardiff called Obsess and then I joined Cardiff and the Vale Mental Health Development Project as Service user. I became interested in staff recruitment at Whitchurch Hospital in Cardiff, which I am still involved in.

I would sometimes go to my Fathers garage in the evenings and mess with my motorbike. A friend/customer of my Fathers garage was discussing trying to find a steel sculptor to make a six-foot dragon that bellowed smoke! I thought that I had little to loose by giving it a go, I just had a weird feeling that I could do it. Six months later it was built and from then on I have been messing about with steel in alternative ways.

My next project was inspired by Renee to make a giant ‘Nessy Dragon’ to replace a fence in front of my brothers house. Word got about and people began to approach me about sculpting.

I have been on benefits on and off for a couple of years now and I have found that I can utilise my trade as a panel-beater, and ‘loose myself’, by creating in steel.

After a few weird and wonderful projects including a glassfibre Christ in Majesty and a giant rock (I have even tried my hand at abstract paintings!) I have decided to move the steel sculpture up a gear, and… here I am today.